Hymne a l'Amour
by cluelessclown
Summary: She remembers the tender pecks to her neck, the feeling of his hands on the small of her back, and those kisses where their teeth collided and their tongues met, and she can't help but think that Fredrick Zoller cannot be a bad man. If anything, he is a man whose life turned wrong until they met.


_**i've fallen for your eyes but they don't know me yet**_

x.x

He smells of dust and warm coffee. His mouth tastes like harsh tobacco. She can remember that much.

She also remembers the feeling of his warm body against hers. The kisses, the slight caresses, his eyes looking down at her in sheer adoration. She remembers kissing him; sometimes roughly, sometimes endearingly. Her eyes flutter closed at the reminiscence of the times she lay curled up by his side, her fingers running through his bare chest and his slumbery breath tickling the back of her neck. She even smiles when she remembers how he sometimes wheezed out brief words in German in his sleep, and how those guiltily reminded her of who he really was.

She sometimes wonders whether he was being honest when they first met. He had claimed to be much more than what his uniform could tell, and at that time Shosanna had hastily thought that he was simply trying to make an impression. But now, as her mind runs back through the previous weeks lying with him in his small bed, she can't help but believe that Fredrick Zoller is much, much more than what Goebbels and the entire Germany thinks. He's devious, frantic in bed, and a terribly loud snorer. But most of all, he is still the little boy who spent the first six years of his life roaming down the streets of Munich, fatherless and trapped in a war-torn country. She can recall him speaking fondly of his father, although his body had fallen limply and lifeless in a trench somewhere near Nantes when Fredrick was only a year old. She can also remember how a small smile had spread across his face as he whispered,

"Above anything else, I am what I am to please my father, wherever he is."

Shosanna sometimes wonders what would have become of Fredrick if he hadn't enrolled the Wehrmacht back in 1936. She might not have met him, but he would not have become a bad man either. But does that reflection imply that she thinks of Fredrick Zoller as a _bad man_? She isn't sure at first, but then she quietly remembers their first night together and everything else seems to vanish. How can a bad man look at her in such adoration, or become so gentle at her touch? She remembers the tender pecks to her neck, the bruises from all his sucking and nipping, and those kisses where their teeth collided and their tongues met, and she can't help but think that Fredrick Zoller cannot be a bad man.

If anything, he is a man whose life turned wrong until they met.

x.x

It is the night prior to the first screening of _Stolz der Nation_. Shosanna is lying in her bed, covered by a thin blanket. The tender air of the month of June feels rather warm — but not as half as warm as the body about to roll into bed with her.

Fredrick crawls up to her as every other night. His hands make their way down to her waist, his toes brushing against her heel. His lips start pressing lazy kisses onto her nape, his thumbs rubbing her sides endearingly. Without asking, she knows today has been a good day. When he is feeling gruff or moody, he simply lies next to her until it is Shosanna who turns around and whimsically starts pressing kisses to his chest. But today, as she figures from the smile forming on his lips against the back of her neck, has been a good day.

"_Demain, enfin_." He speaks in a faint whisper, although it is loud enough for Shosanna to hear him. Her chest tightens a little, her eyes flutter closed and she asks herself whether it is really necessary to enact her revenge the way she had planed it. But she reckons it is, because a moment later she remembers what happened to her parents and her little brother and feels like she owes them something. It is the guilt of having lived, the condemnation of breathing, what drives her to decide that her plan will be carried out determinedly.

For one night, she is not smiling.

He, however, does not seems to notice so. His kisses slowly start turning into soft nibbles, and his hands start fussing with her pyjama buttons. She knows she should stop him, but she cannot. It feels too well to restrain herself from the pleasure of one last night together. Her throat tightens at the thought of what will happen tomorrow, but for tonight she simply turns around to face him and looks at his chocolate-brown eyes with the dearest expression that has ever set upon her face. He smiles; kindly, passionately, adoringly, all at the same time. He is head over heels for her, she can tell that much. She runs her fingers deftly through his hair, loving his eyes on her.

She loves his adoring smiles.

She loves his touch, his scent, his kisses.

She loves _him_.

His hands make their way up to her face, his thumbs caressing her cheeks ever so tenderly. He slowly leans forward and, with the usual delicacy of the first kiss of the night, touches his lips to hers. She feels how something meekly blooms inside her, just as every other time his lips have crashed against hers. He seems to smile when he feels her hands running down his chest, and looks joyous at her big toe rubbing against his in a childish manner.

Soon enough, the caresses start becoming rougher and his kisses are longer and grip her tighter. She nibbles onto his neck as her hands deftly make their way through his body, his cream-coloured fingers trying to figure out how to get rid of her pyjamas.

A moment later it is just their bare bodies pressed against each other. She is lying beneath him, her lips reluctant to fall apart from his and her hands deviously caressing every inch of him. Meanwhile, Fredrick studies her like one would admire the greatest painting in the Louvre. Both of their necks and collarbones brand small bruises from the furious contrasts of their bodies. His, sturdy and slightly sunburnt; hers, thin and pale. His strong arms hold her tightly and swiftly at the same time, and his kisses seem rough yet delicate. Upon feeling his lips pressing against hers, Shosanna's breath hitches and she looks up to him. Brown meets green, and for a moment she can do nothing but stare at the man that she loves and yet will have to see die tomorrow.

Her lips part, and all she can do is whisper,

"_Touche-moi_."

And so Fredrick obliges.

x.x

A few minutes later, they are both lying next to one another, their eyes reluctant to tear away from the other's. Fredrick's arms are tightly wrapped around her and both of them are still palpitating. Not a word has escaped their lips, but they needn't speak to reveal their feelings to the other. Her nose nuzzling against his neck makes Fredrick feel calm; his soothing breath against her golden locks brings peace to Shosanna. The Nazi war hero and the Jewish girl have now blended into one, and there is no way out of it.

She feels how Fredrick's hands make their way up to her cheeks again, but this time it is her forehead that is graced by the touch of his lips. He closes his eyes, remaining completely and utterly still for a few moments.

"_Mein Lieb_," he whispers. "_Mon amour._"

She replies nothing, but Frederick does not seem to mind. His black lashes seem to fall closed, and a few minutes later Shosanna's ears perceive the first slight snores escaping his mouth. It will be the last time they fall asleep together; the last time their bodies press against each other and their breathing speeds up at the touch of whom they could call their lover. It will all be for the last time, at least in this life.

It is the first time Shosanna cries since her family died.

x.x

A ghoulish love story. A war-torn Romeo and Juliet. That is all they are, Shosanna thinks, as she feels the cold of her gun when Fredrick falls limply to the floor of the projection room. Her hand trembles, her chest aches, and she can do nothing but foolishly try to gulp down the lump in her throat. She stares at him and all that comes to her mind are the memories of all those nights she had relished on the feeling of his skin against hers.

It almost feels like a redemption when the bullet pierces though her ribcage.

She falls to the ground; it nearly doesn't hurt – she just feels how life escapes her body at a worrying speed, a little bit like Fredrick's. Perhaps this is the way it is meant to be; to bleed out next to each other and hope for a better reunion somewhere else. It is all Shosanna can think of as the last dying breaths escape her lips.

"_Mein Lieb_."

He smells of dust and warm coffee. His mouth tastes like harsh tobacco. Maybe sometime, somewhere, someday else, their lives will clash together again.


End file.
